


after action review

by mercytech (syscheckAIDAN)



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: 'iM sIXTeeN' jackalope darby youre a dipstick is what u are thats baby, F/M, I hope, Slow Burn, goshhh i love sounders so much this is absolutely for me but if yall like it thats cool too, ok reader's friends w op now cool? cool, reader has a personality but no given name so thats cool, reader is Not a teenager. still p young but like jeepers theyre children the prime kids are babies, reader makes logs of her exploits, reading the illuminae series made me want to write in log format what can u do, this is gonna b like. captain's log. legit prose writing. then Secret captain's log
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23574214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syscheckAIDAN/pseuds/mercytech
Summary: You have several roles in Team Prime: functioning adult (sometimes), diligent cataloguer of things that occur (archivist sounds cooler, but you're not there yet), and overall cool friend (nonstop).You're also thrust into a fun little game of 'sympathize with the devil, why don't you?' after a chance encounter leaves you  helping out the Decepticons' TIC.
Relationships: Optimus Prime & Reader, Soundwave (Transformers)/Reader, Soundwave (Transformers)/You
Comments: 24
Kudos: 122





	1. AAR No. 1

**AFTER-ACTION REPORT**  
_Submitted by: The One and Only Adult Here. Can You Believe It?_

* * *

Okay.  
  
This is how the mission fell apart – not with a bang, no.   
  
But with a Miko.   
  
  


Hey.  
  
Hey, alright.  
  
Alright, okay, I know I’m not actual government personnel and that I don’t need to take the time to compile these AAR logs. But you have to admit, this entire thing is wack. This whole shebang, I mean. Ratchet likes to give me grief about how much of a security risk recording these thoughts and excursions are, but I also think he should consider three things. One – Raf’s helped me out with the encryption here, and he knows I keep this tablet stored on-site, never to see the soulless light of Jasper’s day. That’s one. Two, if I were somehow some outsider who stumbled on this collection of logs about a rando punk’s E.T.-flavored adventures, then I would just assume that I was holding the makings of the best fiction podcast ever. Keeping up with me?   
  
Okay, three: _these things keep me sane_. I know Little Miss Leeroy Jenkins over here is thrilled to have a couple close shaves with disaster, but I’m a little less of a junkie than she is. Optimus et al., I love you guys very much, and I’d never take back the opportunity to be here, but some of the things we’ve gone through, man… some of the things… they… Oh. Ah.  
  
No.  
  
Point is, I like the phrase “after action report.”   
  
By the way, I know you’re an adult, too, Fowler, and that you barely consider twenty-four to be post-pubescent. Listen, I mean of us intrepid youngsters. Duking it out every other day, helping keep the world Con-free one mishap after another, making dire mistakes but then making up for said dire mistakes by the end of the story! That’s us! Team Kids’ Show Plot!   
  
Ugh, so many non-sequiturs. My bad. I had a point here.  
  
Oh! Right. Yes.  
  
My point was something like this: I love Miko Nakadai a lot. I’d move mountains for that girl; she keeps me on my toes and is a good indicator of what it must feel like to be a young single mom with a teenage daughter who’s going through a metalhead Invader Zim phase.  
  
But jeez. The things that could be avoided if she would just stay put, you feel? So listen. Here’s what.  
  
Optimus and Bee have left the building beforehand to check out what could be a troubling spike in ’Con presence on their regular patrol routes. Then, another, more troubling piece of intel spikes on the charts – more on that later, if I can grab the deets – and so we lose Arcee and Bulk as they gear up to go check that out. Groundbridge opens, and gosh, they’re always so beautiful. All these swirling sea foams and violets and skies. Like it’s a reminder that sometimes there’s beauty in living, you know?  
  
Yeah, well.  
  
Groundbridge in all its glory: open. The ’Bots are stepping through; it’s going to close in maybe twelve seconds. Ratchet, if I remember right, grabs a toolbox to go solder some circuitboards somewhere in the depths of the base and he leaves us with the wise words: “Don’t touch anything, understand?” Oh, Ratchet.  
  
And to her credit, Miko doesn’t! She doesn’t touch anything tech, doesn’t break the entire screen array. What she does do is get the biggest, most feral grin a teen girl has ever mustered spreading like butter on her face and takes off, slipping through the groundbridge and shooting off to who even knew where before I could even ready the perfect swear word on my tongue.  
  
Not that I’d say it, mind. Raf’s like twelve.   
  
Now, I’m the newest kid on the block. Been here only a couple weeks, maybe four. I’m the D’Artagnan to these guys, the greenest banana, but I’ve heard of Miko’s exploits. I know that the last time, the boys did the dumb thing too and followed her, though it really ended up being to the overall benefit of the day. Yeah. I should have been watching, I know, many sorries. I’m still new.   
  
But I’m also a frickin’ adult, and so the instant Jack and Raf pierce me through with their startled little ‘now what’ faces, I make myself look like I’ve got this.   
And how, you ask, do I do that?   
  
Well, I slide down the stairs and follow Miko in like a lunatic! What else could I possibly have done? My options? Vast, they were not!  
  
Jeez. Okay, this one’s turned into a tattling session where I skirt around roasting Miko for having the impulse control of a puppy. I went too! I ended up in trouble too!  
Urgh… okay, I went way overtime for this one. Gotta wrap up, give more juicy tidbits later. Okay.  
  
I follow Miko, we get scolded by Bulk and Arcee, but mostly not me because I know for a fact I looked just as ticked at Miss Instant Gratification. Given the nature of the dumpster fire we waltzed into – ’Cons! A cave system! Starscream was there, for crying out loud! The big spook Soundwave was there! – we were more or less drafted into the peanut gallery and spent an awful lot of effort trying to stay out of trouble. Of course, that doesn’t work, Miko and I end up ducking into the cave for cover, and at this point I’m realizing that there’s an artifact involved here. Chill, right?   
  
Well, to make it chiller, that was when the entire cave system came down on us. Giant robots and hollow geological structures don’t mix, kittens. And I… I remember pushing Miko. I think I bruised her. I should apologize. But…  
  
No, she got out. Bulk had her in a half-tick, looked scared as they come, last I saw, before the rocks came down, and I… wasn’t alone…  
Huh. Hmm. Yeah.   
  
Must have been trapped in there with Soundwave and the artifact for hours before the day was out.  
  
Thanks, Optimus. I thanked you before, but still.   
  
Hours, man. Does things to your perception.  
  
I do have to go now, though.  
  
This has been an AAR by none other than Team Prime’s coolest cat.  
  
Peace.


	2. AAR No. 1.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here's what really went down with the cave-in. [1/2]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im straight up writing these as they come to me and this one was getting tOO LONG 4 ME SO I GUILLOTINED IT
> 
> (tysm to y'all who commented too! you guys are dears!)

All was still in that dead Jasper way when Optimus dropped you off at home. The full moon’s pale light waged its war against the even feebler glow of the single street lamp on your block, their combined force enough for you to make out the little cactus beside your door. Never let it be said that this town was a prosperous kingdom, ever.  
  
But let it never be said that coming home to a quiet little apartment at the end of a day like this was in any way a bad thing, either.  
  
Lots of details you didn’t have time to divulge to your on-site diary – or, really, it was that you weren’t willing to spill your guts where any one of the others could hear you blubbering about how scared you had been. You were the cool kid who gave generally light-hearted commentary and you had a reputation to upkeep, after all.  
  
Although…   
  
“Are you certain you are well, my friend?”  
  
The Prime’s voice – always comforting, you thought, strong but gentle – rumbled quietly through the speakers in the cab. You didn’t have an official guardian, per se, but if asked, you’d probably say it was Optimus. The way he prodded at you the way he did, despite your many assurances back at base, seemed to corroborate that idea.   
  
The tired smile came easily to you, tugging at your mouth like string on a hand-wrapped parcel. The urge to brush the concern aside did well up for a moment, but you were trying to get better at this. With _him_ , at least. The way you were slumped back in the seat, bandaged hands in lap, didn’t do much to make you look unfazed, either. That ultra-chillness of yours was fooling no one tonight.  
  
You let out a breath, absently cracked your knuckles, and stopped when the pain flared and when you remembered that the ’Bots tended to find that charming little joint action unnerving. Instead, you laughed weakly.  
  
“It’s just been a day, Optimus,” you admitted. “Being stuck in a structurally unsound cave structure with a being of questionable good graces isn’t really my idea of a fun-filled afternoon.”  
  
His reply was soft.  
  
“… I am sorry to have kept you waiting so long.”   
  
The edge of guilt piercing his tone had you sitting up straight, rapping gentle knuckles on the steering wheel. You knew he felt bad; you knew he felt it was his sworn duty to bear the weight of every inconvenience that ever happened.   
  
And you also thought that it was the dumbest thing you’d ever heard of.  
  
“Hey, _no_. I respect your rank as Commander in Chief and all, but can it with the guilt already, OP,” you chided. “It wasn’t an ideal situation for anyone. _None_ of us asked for it. And I was pretty freaked, yeah. But what matters is that you came for me. I can’t thank you enough for that. You’re really reassuring, you know? I mean, if, like, Arcee singlehandedly burst through that rockalanche and held her hand out like _‘come to me, child,’_ it wouldn’t have been the same. Good, but not great. I’m glad you were there. My relief was, how you say, sparkfelt.”  
  
“Hm,” said Optimus, which was really his catch-all sound to indicate that he was processing, acknowledging, and – sometimes – repressing a little smile. You considered that little hum a win.  
  
“I suppose,” he added quietly, after a long while, “that I am grateful as well – grateful that of all the Decepticons for you to be placed in peril with, it was not Starscream.”  
The grave delivery of the words had you laughing like you meant it, and some part of you wondered if that wasn’t his intention; awkward Optimus was, but vastly clever he also tended to be. _What a nerd,_ you thought. _What a cool nerd._  
  
“Big mood, OP,” you snickered. “I’ll drink to that, bro.”  
  
Well, if you drank, that was. Maybe some apple juice? The thought of having a wine glass full of apple juice held a lot of appeal for you, actually, and you shared this musing with Optimus. His response, as you gathered your bag and slid out of the seat, was a polite reminder not to drink too much, and at that point you had no clue if he was being serious or not.   
  
You gently swung the door shut and patted his hood, characteristic easy smile back in place like it had never left. Funny what an effect this mighty robot nerd had on you.  
“I know it’s not the first time you hear me say it and it definitely won’t be the last, and you know I mean it with only love and respect,” you said, “but Optimus, you’re real cute. It’s important to me that you know this.”   
  
“Duly noted.” That was absolutely a dry note in his modulation. “Good night, my friend. Some rest will do you good.”  
  
“Sweet – you rest too, big guy. Thanks for taking me home, again. Until next time?”  
  
“Until next time.”  
  
Everyone knew that having a huge semi truck parked on the curb wasn’t the most inconspicuous sight in the world – especially not one as boldly colored as Optimus – but even so, he waited until you made it into your apartment to drive away.  
  
It was, you thought, the kindest way you had seen an extra minute spent.   
  
Ten minutes after that, you had your wineglass of apple juice, a cozy position curled up on the couch, and the old-school tape recorder you used for the real confessions, ready for you to spill the real details. It was nothing new that you drew comfort from talking things out. But you also had opinions that would make Ratchet frown, and doubts that would give Jack’s mom worried pause, and here and now, you popped your phone battery out, and checked that your door was locked, and let yourself spill them, comforted by the low light and silence.   
  


* * *

* * *

_“Here lie secrets, undisclosed._  
  
“…  
  
“Oh, man. So melodramatic. Let me try again. Uh, okay.  
  
“Dear diary:  
  
“I leave things out of the on-site reviews. No big deal, little things. Like how I was sort of, kind of an accomplice in that last prank against Ratchet, the one with the flour. Or how Jack made this booze joke one night that hit way too close to home and I just about fought him in an alley for it. Or how I’m pretty sure I have some kind of friend-crush on Optimus and I spent the entire session puzzling that can of worms out, but in the end I figured I’m just charmed by the nerdiness, no big. It’s a bunch of observations I have that I just don’t want floating around for everyone to know. You know, whatever. Same old, same old.   
  
“This, though. This one isn’t the same. Like, how do you even start taking this one apart? So many directions I could take it.  
  
“I didn’t think I was claustrophobic. Maybe I’m not. That entire ordeal definitely gave me something to think about, though. I won’t be itching to go explore the Paris catacombs anytime soon, is what I’m saying. The walls were too close. The tremors, I don’t know, like the earth was dying. I could feel every breath I took depleting the oxygen I had left and I’ve never been more glad that Cybertronians don’t need to breathe too… No. False start. _Again_.  
  
“Okay, I try to keep three things on me at all times. One is my phone, because it’s got good audiobooks on it and also a camera and flashlight. The other two are a lighter – it’s an irony thing, feel free to point and laugh – and the other is a bandana. Fashionable and practical. Not a bad array, right? Well. They came in handy, today. Did you know that energon burns sharper and hotter than magnesium? The fumes are noxious, too – and they rise, like smoke. Like carbon monoxide.   
  
“When the cave-in happened, I took some hard knocks. Ratchet made sure I took exactly no naps until he was certain that I wouldn’t wake up, well, dead. Well, after he had a conniption over the energon burns on my hands. But when you hit your head like that? The nausea is real. The whole world spins. Had to lay still for a while, too long, until I could move without entirely craving death. Not a great experience, to be honest. I guess that if I was having absolutely no fun, then Soundwave had even less with the hand he was dealt.  
  
“Listen. I know the basics on all the ’Cons. Megatron is ruthless and cunning; Starscream is a vacillating twerp. Knockout and Breakdown are those two guys, the vanity and the brute force. There was a Makeshift once, I heard; not anymore.  
  
“But Soundwave. He’s the monster under the conspiracy theorist's bed. He sees all, hears all, heck, the way I hear it, he’s the entire concept of Big Brother wrapped in a tall, slender package. I swear I’ve heard some of the ’Bots tag conversations with, ‘this is between me, you, and Soundwave.’ A real spook, mysterious and dangerous.  
  
“I know this stuff. I consider myself suitably threatened by any and all Decepticons, actually. But listen. You know that scene in that dragon movie? Where the Viking kid has his knife out and is ready to cut out the dragon’s heart, but then they make eye contact and suddenly he can’t pull it off?  
  
“He was bleeding out. I don’t know much about giant robot anatomy, but I know that their energon is our blood. And I sure know that whatever got severed on _him_ looked like a carotid artery on _me_. And let me tell you something. When it all comes down to it, the color doesn’t mean a damn thing. There’s a little voice in your head that screams at the sight, because it knows that this is what dying looks like. Life is life, and it’s ugly to watch it leaking out into the dust. And I think, you know, I should have stayed put, maybe. I should have hesitated just a little too long and let the energon loss snuff him out and no one would have _blamed_ me because I was _afraid_ and he was a ' _Con_.  
  
“But I... looked at him. And I saw a wounded person who wasn't ready to die. And I had my Viking moment. It would have been so easy for me to just watch him go but I _couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it._  
  
“So what I did do was turn on my flashlight, and stumble my way across the cave floor to where Soundwave lay prone. Knocked my shoulder hard against some Cybertronian tool on the floor on the way. And I put my grubby little human hand on his visor. Me, palm-to-cheek with a ghost.”

"And I spoke to him."


	3. AAR #1.05

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what happened during the cave-in. [2/2]

_“Can you hear me?” you asked softly. Maybe too quietly. “They said you were quiet, but I don’t know if it’s broken-voicebox like Bumblebee or just a lifestyle choice. If you can’t go, ‘yeah, I hear you,’ can you give me some other sign you heard?”_  
  
 _The silence stretched out for seconds, then minutes. Every passing moment and the drip, drip of blue blood on the dirt had your pulse racing to keep up with your head. Lightning-speed, these fears. These worries. These doubts._  
  
 _Right when you were starting to think that he was dead, that you were touching a corpse, Soundwave twitched._  
  
 _ **“Yeah,”** said your own voice after a beat, staticky and faint. You very nearly flinched before realizing it had come from him. **“I hear you.”**_  
  
 _“Oh, thank gosh.” So, recordings. He spoke in recordings. That was neat. “I. Okay. I think you know who I am. I know who you are. But we’re in this together pretty deep, you and I – literally. And I feel sick. Think I might be dying. And I think maybe you are, too.”_  
  
 _If he breathed, you thought you might have seen his frame heave with quiet death rattles. As it was, the silence as he gathered your words felt like sitting vigil for the span that it lasted. You wobbled on your feet, leaned a little harder on his faceplate than you would have in good health._  
  
 _ **“I know who you are,”** Soundwave intoned. **“And – maybe – I might be.”**_  
  
 _“Energon loss,” you surmised right back, and then startled yourself with how straightforward your next words were. Blame it on urgency and the concussion, later. Now was not the time to hesitate. “I think I want to help you. I think I can help you. But I’m also afraid that you’re going to kill me, or capture me, the second you’re not in mortal danger anymore. I’m afraid of you, Soundwave. I don’t know if I can trust that you won’t.”_  
  
 ** _“…”_**  
  
 _“Some reassurance would be chill, dude, and fast. We don’t exactly have time.”_  
  
 ** _“… We’re in this together – you and I. Can trust that – you’re not in mortal danger.”_**  
  
 _A poet, this one. But still…_  
  
 _You gritted your teeth. Rolled with a wave of nausea. Thought, fleetingly, what the others would think of you if you knew what you were about to do for a Decepticon, and with no hesitation. Dismissed it, because that came later and this was happening now._  
  
 _“Okay,” you said finally, and dug in your pocket for that pale-blue bandana you kept. “Okay. Let me try to stop the bleeding. Leaking. Whatever. I’ll be careful.”_  
  
 _Soundwave was not the tallest Cybertronian you’ve met, and you could say this with certainty having spent enough afternoons talking classic lit with Optimus Prime. But he was still big, even laid out and weakened, and you couldn’t help the shiver that passed through you as you clambered gingerly up his frame, careful not to scuff his plating too much. His visor tilted in minute increments, watching you carefully as you went; you had to wonder if he was as wary of your real intentions as you were of his. The bandana was gripped tight in your right hand, and reaching his neck, you came to a halt above the worst of the damage._  
  
 _It_ was _a carotid artery, you decided. And it was cut open in a nasty gash that left a way for his energon to seep out, showing no signs of stopping any time soon. No wonder he hadn’t tried to get up yet. This injury would be next to nothing anywhere else – just a mesh wound, you could say, and you almost laughed at your wit – and his plating was already littered with similar dings and scratches. Here, though, on one of the main pipelines for his lifeblood? He might have ended up feeling lucky you were there._  
 _Your hand reached out to block the laceration, but then –_  
  
 _ **“Pure energon,”** Soundwave cut in suddenly, and you flinched. The voice was smooth, almost flirtatious in nature. Which ’Con was _that _? **“On conducting several… experiments… I’ve found that the organic life on this dustball doesn’t really agree with our lifeblood. All observations indicate that energon has a corrosive effect on organic tissue – irritation, burns, severe necrosis on extended exposure. Could be useful info to have, I admit. All in all a fascinating side experiment, Lord Megatron… and a repulsive one.”**_  
  
 _You swallowed dryly. “Oh, cripes. That’s. Thanks for the heads up.” You had to be careful, then._  
  
 _But a full-body tremor seized the TIC for a half-moment, and you immediately realized that you had no time to be careful. So you swallowed again, and set your jaw._  
 _“But touching as the concern is, I don’t think we can afford to tiptoe around this one. Okay. Okay, okay. Here goes.”_  
  
 _The sensation of Soundwave’s spilled energon on your skin felt a little like this: Fire ants, angry. A thousand bees. But also acid. But also the sting of bleach on cracked, raw hands?_  
  
 _But also, mostly:_  
  
 _“_ Hell _,” you gasped, the ugliest dry-sob ripping itself from your throat. “Holy crap, this is actually hellish. I hate this. I_ hate _this. I_ hate this _. I hate your blood._ I hate this.”   
_But you kept working the fabric until it covered the severed fuel line, and with your free hand you dug in your other pocket, bringing out the tacky chrome lighter that rested there. Tears were stinging your eyes and blurring your vision, but you flicked the little flame into existence and placed it to the energon-soaked bandana._  
  
 _Immediately, you were hit with a flare of heat and light as the energon reacted with the fire. The tip of the flame went blue, then white-hot, and you could feel the cells in your fingertips sizzling and melting just like the polyester fibers were. Melting, near-dripping, and then hardening around the fuel line as you moved your impromptu torch along. A makeshift bandage for a shoddy situation. Poetic, you thought, and wrinkled your nose against the sickly-sweet odor of the burning polyester, the worry when your scorched and battered hands didn’t so much smolder as feel numb._  
  
 _Okay. Joke. Make a joke or something. “Count yourself lucky,” you wheezed. “That I’m too poor for Egyptian cotton bandanas.” A coughing fit; you squeezed your eyes shut. “It looks like it’ll hold. Long enough. Maybe.”_  
  
 _You wobbled on your perch, and swayed, and flicked the lighter closed to snuff out the monster-flame once you’d finished the world’s ugliest patch job. Oh. Was it… a little tougher to breathe? Was the cave’s sudden spinning a concussion thing, or a nerves thing, or…_  
  
 _“Oh,” you wheezed softly. “Fumes. Forgot… those. Forgot…”_  
  
 _Your sense of balance abandoned you._  
  
 _You fell._  
  


* * *

* * *

“It wasn’t that big a drop when I blacked out and dropped like a brick, honestly. But still, I think that if Soundwave hadn’t found it in him to catch me with one of his tendril… cable things, then I would have been hurt a lot worse.   
  
“I’m not surprised that he handled me with as much care as he did, honestly. Tech heads – they all know the value of delicacy when working with stupid-fragile packages. Even had the courtesy to keep one of his tendrils under my head while I was unconscious, so I can respect that. Well, that, and I also am still very glad I didn’t, you know, puke on him. That wouldn’t have been very cash-money.  
  
“Last thing I saw before kicking it for a second was him pulling out one of those energon cubes from his hammerspace. Subspace. The TARDIS pocket the ’Bots have. And then there’s the black, and I think that’s the closest to being dead as I’ve ever gotten and ever want to, and then when I come to it’s like Soundwave’s a new man; probably got enough fresh energon in his system and all. He’s sitting up – as much as he can with the low ceiling – and when I sat up too it’s like his tracking had gotten a lot better than it was. Every twitch I made, he followed. Like he was sizing me up, I don’t know. I don’t know what there is to size up when you look at me – I’ve always been an easy read. Nothing much to me, you know? But it’s like this: Soundwave looks at you for so long, and you begin to feel like a threat. And you don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.   
  
“Whatever my threat level in his head, we talked. Well, I talked. He gestured, and repeated sound clips rehashed into replies, and sometimes he just stared until I figured things out myself. I don’t know if I should feel guilty for not sharing any of this stuff with the others – if I should feel guilty for blatantly recording secrets here and now. This isn’t sharing the extra little tidbits. This is three miles and a pace from covering for a Decepticon. What would they say?  
  
“What would _Optimus_ say?  
  
“I don’t like that thought. No, nope. I don’t like that thought at all. It’s cancelled.  
  
“Instead, here are some burning answers to some burning questions, courtesy of my and Soundwave’s superb conversational skills. Here goes. Number one: why hadn’t the other ’Cons come to spirit him away and turn me into a grease stain on the rocks? Based on what I could get out of the spook, it was because of the relic that, in a small way, started the whole mess. Soundwave had been on relic retrieval duty when the shakedown topside brought the whole roof down on him, and it had been activated, and dropped, and subsequently forgotten because the TIC in question was blessed with a banged-up processor and a critical hit to his Achilles’ fuel line. I get the feeling that this level of clumsiness rankled with him, because he struck me as such a sure-footed, even-keeled terror.   
  
“Digressing. Always digressing.  
  
“So, the relic. It was right there with us all along, and the kicker is? It was the thing I mistook for an alien robot power tool when I tripped on it. This one, I took a minute to figure out. Maybe because the direct recordings were just classified ’Con knowledge, or maybe tall-dark-and-slender just got a kick out of playing 20 Questions with me, but he sure didn’t make that one easy. Best I could tell, it’s like a signal dampener. Wipes out satellite signals and comms faster than you can say _Thanos_. It would explain why they couldn’t find him, I guess. Or why the ’Bots couldn’t pinpoint-bridge me.   
  
“Part of me thinks that if Soundwave had had his little spook bird with him, he would hardly have needed my help and I really would have been a grease stain. Good for me, then, that the ’Con parrot got deployed to assist with Bulk and ’Cee – but if Bulkhead’s stories are to be trusted – the one that says that Soundwave’s drone was constructed from the last remaining piece of his soul - then it probably felt like a piece of Soundwave was stuck separate from him, floating around in the ether and trying to reconnect. Which is nuts, but kind of cool? I don’t even know. I should ask Optimus what he thinks of the theory next time I see him.  
  
“Scrap.  
  
“Optimus.  
  
“Miko says that he was wound tighter than anything, coming through two consecutive ground bridges to rescue me in my hour of need. And I believe her – he was grim enough on our way back. Didn’t stop looking at the blood on my head. At the burns. The guilt radiated, okay? But it wasn’t his fault for not being there, or for taking so long. If anything, it saved me the trouble of having to make up some garbage about how I got away from Soundwave uncaptured.   
  
“His timing is impeccable, by the way. By the time he’d regained enough energy to retrieve the relic, deactivate it, and summon a groundbridge for himself, the rockslide was already giving way to OP’s efforts.   
  
“Sigh.  
  
“Jeez. _Jeez_.   
  
“He did let me go. He absolutely didn’t have to; I was scared that he wasn't going to; it was tactically stupid that he didn’t.  
  
“But he spared me. Took the relic, yeah. Took a long look at me that had me shaking to my bones. But that was it. He was through the groundbridge without so much as a goodbye, and as the light from it died, the moonlight outside streamed in. And I could _breathe_. What a dumb way to spend a Saturday afternoon.  
  
“I wonder if the guilt from keeping so much to myself will ease off the more I do it. No better way to get over it than to get through it, right?  
  
“I’ll probably have to go through about a dozen lucid recollections about the whole thing first before I get to that, though.  
  
“I can still feel the chemical burns.”  
  
  


* * *

* * *

  
  
True to the feeling you had, the sight that greeted you when you closed your eyes was the scene of the dusty cave.   
  
In particular, it was the one thing you didn’t have it in you to speak about just yet; the point between the questions and the answers, where Soundwave had clear reservations about telling you anything, and you had the striking need to know and a fervent argument that had you feeling like you just stepped into the noose.  
  
 _“Oh, what? I get it. You don’t want to answer me because you’re thinking I’m going to turn around and spill my guts to the Autobots, because I’m their pet or something, right? You’re puzzling out how much I’ll leak. You’re so certain I’ll do it.”_  
  
 _Silence. He didn’t even need a face to get his point across; was it so surprising?_  
  
 _“Ever consider that there’s no way I’m even letting them know I talked to you today? Ever? An interrogation’s one thing – but there’s no way I can spin this that doesn’t end with admitting one tiny little detail that I would rather take to my grave.”_  
  
 _A beat; two. Then, your voice, chiming back at you._  
  
 ** _“What?”_**  
  
 _You felt sick, and it wasn’t just the concussion. “I helped you. I took one look at you and I sympathized. I didn’t even bother doing anything that would put the Autobots at a single advantage here. If you don’t think that I will be nailed to the wall for this… Well. Doesn’t matter. They won’t hear about it. I can’t afford to let it slip.”_  
 _The rueful, conflicted tone in your voice was almost palpable. You knew and he knew that you were telling the truth._  
  
 _More silence. You held your breath._  
  
 _Finally, Soundwave nodded._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh u can tell this is done on the fly
> 
> the melted polyester thing is inspired by that time i was makin a quesadilla and i accidentally melted the entire sleeve of my jacket into a dumb plastic cast thing on my arm. irl it probably couldnt stand up to what i put it through here 
> 
> i also imagine that soundwave, being as well armored as he is, would probably b that boss w one (1) weakness and here it is his carotid fuel line, which, while protected some by the cant of his head and general position, can't take much of a beating like the rest of him can


End file.
